I wish you could see some of the places I saw in the mountains. We took the train to Casas Grandes and went with a pack outfit to Durasno and Tarachi, just over the line into Sonora. That’s one fine country. Had a good time going and coming, but when we got there and my chief was snooping around in those musty old underground cave houses I was bored a-plenty. One day I remember I lay in camp with nothing to do and read every line of an old El Paso paper, ads and all.
Leo, you’re getting to be a big boy now. I want you to get into something better than punching cows. When you get time you ought to go down to your Uncle Sim’s and make a start on learning to use a typewriter. I’ve been trying it myself, but it’s hard for an old dog to learn new tricks.
You and Wesley must both help your mother, and help George. Do what George tells you—he knows more about things than you do. Be good kids. I’ll be home just as soon as I can.
Dad.
“There,” said Jeff, “if there’s anything you want to blue-pencil I’ll write it over. Anything you want to say suits me so long as it goes.”
“Why, this seems all right,” said the Judge, after reading it. “I have an envelope in my billbook. Address it, but don’t seal it. You might attempt to put in some inclosure by sleight-of-hand. If you try any such trick I shall consider myself absolved from any promise. If you don’t, I’ll mail it. I always prefer not to lie when I have nothing to gain by lying. Bless my soul, how you have blotted it!”
“Yes. I’m getting nervous,” said Jeff.
The envelope bore the address:
MRS. JEFF BRANSFORD,
Rainbow South,
Escondido, N. M.
c/o William Beebe.
“Of course you will do as you like,” remonstrated Patterson, later. “But I shouldn’t send that letter, and I should, without any further delay, erase Mr. Bransford’s name from the list of living men.”